


Wild Rose

by snowbryneich



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbryneich/pseuds/snowbryneich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre series fic. Lyanna and Rhaegar - just after the tourney at Harrenhal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch hit for asoiaf_equinox

Lyanna had never cared for stories. There was little she disliked spending her time at more than listening to Old Nan ramble. But then she never cared for staying still at all. She had spent the day exploring Harrenhal – they would be leaving soon enough after all - and musing on the fact that her father had her future all set out for her. For all that stories could not hold her attention, she did not mind being at the centre of her own. The tale of Rhaegar naming her would spread, gossip always did – Elia Martell had been one of the first to leave the tourney camp and without her husband it seemed. For Lyanna, the tale seemed something minor to have as her very own before being condemned to a future as Robert Baratheon's lady wife.

 

No amount of well meant reassurance from Ned made that future seem appealing. Her brother might delude himself about Robert Baratheon's habits, it was a luxury Lyanna could not afford. He had urged her to go to Robert after Rhaegar's had named her and tell him it meant nothing to her. Lyanna had near laughed out loud at the notion and reminded Ned that she would not find Robert anywhere she was permitted to go. Robert would be out indulging his temper in yet another wine cup war with Ser Lonmouth or starting some melee of his own. He liked a fight – that at least she could not hold against him, she should prefer it to Robert spending his time wenching, but aside from the insult in his obvious appetites she could not summon a spark of jealousy. Let the wenches have him.

 

She had not see her brother since and likely dearest Ned was attending on his friend and future brother in the hopes of keeping him to honourable distractions. But however Robert dealt with his temper, Lyanna wished him well of it. It kept him out of her company. It was merely a respite she knew. She'd given her word when her father gave her hand and it chafed at her. Robert's well meaning but clumsy attempts to court her with talk of Storm's End only made it seem further away and more alien to Lyanna. She missed the wolfwood and the crypt already and she was not even wed yet.

 

She had other reasons for refusing to attend to Ned's wishes on the matter. Robert might lie to her and Lyanna did not doubt he would lie rather than admit his behaviour if she should chose to confront him – a notion that did appeal but would make little difference. Lyanna did not lie to him, she was a Stark, she had more honour than that. Lyanna admitted her sins when caught – whether climbing the walls of Winterfell, 'borrowing' Benjen's tourney sword, or convincing Brandon to teach her to joust. And she never promised not to do it again, not if she knew she would even if it made her lord father wroth and earned her extra punishment. Even now Lyanna had not lied to anyone – it was a mystery knight's right to go masked and stay that way.

 

There were of course downsides to this, she had developed the sneaking suspicion that her honest indifference to Robert had been taken both as maidenly shyness and a challenge. It made it different to the girls – even the those gently born, that he normally encountered. If she only could bring herself to fall all over him he might be put off but more likely he would accept it as his due and praise himself for winning her over. No lying to Robert was not what Lyanna saw in her future and if she could never admit that she cared more for Rhaegar Targaryen than her betrothed. That she preferred his pale looks and his harp and his sweet sweet songs more than she ever could or would like Robert's booming jests and strapping warriors physique; she would not deny it. Not for Ned, not for Robert – not for anyone. Though if anyone should notice or comment on her opinion they would get more than the cup of wine over their head that Benjen had.

 

Aside from her prize of winter roses, and her new found fascination with the prince; she had her own private amusement. That she would be remembered for that moment: being named Queen of Love and Beauty – for Rhaegar's daring and not her own. It should have frustrated her but she had known when she entered this lists she would never be acknowledged for her victory. It had not been what she wanted when she had donned the armour and that she _had_ gotten. The squires might think better before they attacked a crannogman again, though they were likely still bullies. The squires were her age and she was near a woman grown – they should have had better manners and now they did. She knew she was lucky Brandon had not guessed it was her, but she did not think he had. He must not think that even she would do something so outlandish, however headstrong they said she was. He was no better at hiding it than she was when she was in a temper. And he would have been, she knew if he had guessed. Wolf's blood, her lord father called it and her lady mother had never approved. But her lady mother was long gone and her lord father thought she should have grown out of it with her flowering.

 

Though she could have predicted her father and Brandon's response, she had not thought that the King would respond so. How had she offended him by chastising three squires – even their masters were mere knights not lords and only one of them from the crown lands? Why should his grace care; perhaps, he really was mad? The shield hanging in the tree had baffled them all, and no-one but her would ever know who the mystery knight was. Howland Reed might guess, but she had saved him and treated him kindly besides. He would not betray her – not to those who would chastise her for it. She tries to ignore the the brief moment when she had heard that Rhaegar Targaryen was leading the search and wondered what would happen if she had let him find her. Perhaps if he had given her the roses before the search – she might have done without regard for sense or honour.

 

The Stark pavilion and camp had not been struck yet the way many had done now the tourney was done. They were in no hurry to leave the riverlands, Brandon would accompany Lady Catelyn home when all was done and Lyanna did not object to knowing her future goodsister better, though Catelyn was very lady like which did not seem promising for their future friendship. Lyanna wished Brandon well in his marriage but she was not going to spend her days sewing to keep his future bride happy. Yet she slowed as she came close to the Stark tent; her attention caught by raised voices. No – a single voice, Brandon's booming through the camp and she took in a breath as she saw who he was shouting at.

 

Her lord father was always cold when angry, his temper icy. But Brandon's ran hot and even Lyanna might have flushed as he accused the prince of behaving improperly towards her. He might as well have accused Rhaegar of trying to seduce her – perhaps he had done already and she'd missed it. The idea should not appeal the way it did. She reminded herself of Robert's bastard in the veil – she'd think of Prince Rhaegar if she liked. What harm did thinking do.

 

The Crown Prince was not shouting, nor did he seem angered by Brandon's barely veiled accusations. Lyanna knew that if she was to interrupt she'd be bustled inside and so uncaring of the gown she had already stained in her exploration she shimmied up the nearest tree for a better vantage point.

 

“Claim you honoured her all you like,” Brandon told the dragon prince not even giving him a title. “But the whole realm says otherwise – I warn you do not think to make my sister your mistress. Targaryen.”

 

“I meant no impropriety,” Rhaegar said in answer and his rich voice carried for all he had none of Brandon's volume. “I misthought the situation. Elia knows my heart and I have no intentions towards your sister. She is but a young maid and lovely – one that deserves to be crowned at a tourney and you have few enough of them in the North. I merely meant it a kindness. Elia has been named a dozen times over, the title means little to her, she will see I meant no insult soon enough. As will the gossips – my father means to silence them.”

 

There was something troubling in that last statement and yet Lyanna felt her stomach drop as the Prince proclaimed her crown meant nothing. She had known it could never mean anything. Yet to hear it said took away something she had not even known she valued just yet and she slumped in the branch of the tree. Damn Rhaegar Targaryen to all the seven hells. How dare he pity her. As if it were some sort of tragedy to live without tourney's and knights making fools of themselves all over the place. She'd have her fill of it at Storm's End if she wanted it. If she was at the tent she'd throw his winter roses at his head and let them all see what she thought of him. She was startled out of her angered revery when someone sat at the foot of her tree – and though she shuffled back to remain unseen it was too late. She peered down at his silver hair and wondered if she could throw something at him to teach him she didn't need his pity. She had plucked a handful of acorns for this purpose when he addressed her.

 

“Lady Lyanna. I have now lied to His Grace my father for your sake and to your brother for mine own. I fear this is only the beginning of the dishonesty.”

 

He wasn't even looking up but he knew it was her, and if he lied to the King he knew she was the mystery knight. She was so startled by that she dropped the handful of missiles and watched appalled as they cascade on to his head. He started but did not look up – deliberately she though – if anyone was watching he did not want to be seen to be conversing with a maid in a tree. Not that that would save him if Brandon should find him lurking nearby when she was conveniently absent.

 

Rhaegar shaked his head to dislodge the caught acorns. His fine silver hair spilled out like it is spun of fine metal. (Truth be told Lyanna was startled by how pretty his hair was and yet disappointed in herself for being so fascinated with it. It was just _hair._ )

 

“I suppose I deserved that,” Rhaegar said and she could hear the barely hidden laughter in his voice. “In truth it was much kinder than the lesson the squires got.”

 

“If you've been attacking my father's men, I'll devise something harsher,” Lyanna promised before she can think of what she is saying.

 

He laughed again. And it annoyed her – she'd never even seen him smile, now he was laughing and she couldn't even see his merriment. “You should laugh more,” she informed him. “I can't be sure but I think it suits you.”

 

“I was not born for laughter,” the Prince said, his tone solemn and she wished she had another acorn to throw. How melodramatic and yet she could hear his solemn belief in what he said. He didn't not jest this dragon prince and it should not have fascinated her.

 

“What were you born for?” she asked. “There are plenty of who take pleasure in ruling and mirth in everything else.”

 

“I'm no stormlord,” Rhaegar said, not missing a beat. “And I was born for the same reason as you were.”

 

Lyanna was born for the wolfswood, the crypts, she thought, for the summer snows and winter roses, and to ride into the wind until the wind chafed her face and the chill settled in her bones. But that it seemed, was not to be her fate.

 

“I was born for Winter.” she told him. “And in winter there are storms – I'll weather them – you see if I don't.”

 

“You were born for Ice,” Rhaegar said. It's all she could do not to scoff – Ice was her father's sword and she had three brothers. Brandon would wield Ice one day while she kept Robert's castle. “Ice and Fire,” he added and he was almost talking to himself. “The dragon must have three heads.”

 

“There are no more dragons,” Lyanna said, and she was disturbed as much as she is fascinated. Perhaps he was as mad as his father.

 

“There will be,” Rhaegar said. “You would be a fitting Visenya.”

 

Aegon's warrior Queen from the stories of old. Lyanna was flattered. How foolish of her, to have her head turned by a half mad prince. She had had enough – and she slipped down from the tree to find that the prince had tears in his purple eyes. He blinked at her and they were gone. “You have a wife,” Lyanna pointed out, though Elia was no warrior queen as he might have expected such from a Dornish wife.

 

“Then I will have two.” Rhaegar said. “As Aegon did. They knew the war for the Dawn was coming, but they did not know what I know.”

 

He sounds so sure of himself, Lyanna thought watching him and forgetting that Brandon is so near and in a temper.

 

“It is not now,” he said reassuringly. “There are things to be done but I will return. You'll come with me then?”

 

It took her a moment before she realized it was a question, and when that sunk in she thought yes but had the sense not to say it.

 

He did not seem perturbed as she turned and left, merely sad and certain.

 

That night Lyanna dreamed of dragons and a winter rose growing in a chink of the wall. Not something she had ever dreamed of before, and thinking of the wall put her in mind of more old stories of daughters of Winterfell who were stolen. Lyanna would not be stolen. She would decide for herself. And she did when she saw the Targaryen party making their way out of camp. She only managed it for a brief moment; because, when Brandon saw her wearing the flower crown he confined her to their pavillion until they left for Riverrun. She contented herself by plaguing Ned as he prepared to return to the Eyrie. She liked to think Rhaegar smiled when he saw it, but she couldn't be sure – but she was sure he took her meaning and now she only had to wait. Half mad or not, Rhaegar saw her as what she was – wild and wanted her anyway. Lyanna did not have it in her to say no to that.


End file.
